Promise of the What?
by Surreptitious Chi X
Summary: A mild jab at Promise of the Witch King operating under the assumption that Salvatore's efforts in writing the book have been sorely inadequate. Unrelated short stories. This story is not for those who genuinely enjoyed the book.
1. Promise of the What?

Promise of the What?

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Artemis looked around the ghastly landscape and the ugly strip of a road they followed that disappeared into the gray horizon. They were traveling with a group of people, and they were all equally mud spattered and grim-faced. "I know it's a little late for this," the assassin, turning to Jarlaxle, "but I have to ask. What in the nine hells is a witch king?"

"Witch King?" Jarlaxle echoed. He looked around. The others, further away and slogging through the marshy ground, didn't seem to notice their quiet conversation. The drow mercenary carefully lowered his voice another notch and pulled down the wide brim of his purple hat, warily trying to avoid notice. His crimson eye returned to Entreri. "I don't know."

Artemis stared at him. "I'm going to kill you."

The drow noticed they were beginning to separate from the group, being left behind. "Maybe later." Jarlaxle started walking to close the gap between them and their companions.

Entreri glared at his back.

They didn't rest until four hours later.

They were all soaked through by a persistent drizzle that didn't seem to actually fall but acted more like an annoyingly thick mist that followed them wherever they went. Jarlaxle's hat couldn't protect him from it in the least. In fact, it was the first thing to absorb so much water that the drow had to take it from his head and wring it out. "This weather is murder on my hat," the usually smiling mercenary said with a sniff, pouting. "I don't know whether I'm going to have to replace it."

"If you do," Entreri said, "buy it in red. Or orange. Please. Anything but purple."

Now and then, Jarlaxle would stop and wring out his hat again before replacing it on his bald head.

When they finally stopped, reaching more solid ground, the only thing they had with which to make a fire, something they all desired to varying degrees (some warriors even moaning over it), was horse chips. Artemis thought that that only illustrated how much the entire journey stank. He patiently sat and endured the foul smelling smoke. The intellectual part of him was worn down by all that had happened to him, and what he expected still. He felt numb. The only thing he found himself doing that was slightly comforting was watching Calihye. She was talking with a few of the other members of the group, swearing and complaining. He thought it was rather beautiful of her.

Jarlaxle, of course, sat down in front of him and blocked the view.

Artemis scowled.

Jarlaxle blinked, then looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the half elven mercenary. "I've been meaning to ask you this, but one way or another we didn't have time," he said.

"What?" Artemis growled.

Jarlaxle asked, "What do you see in her?"

The assassin stared at him.

The drow insisted, "I did give you Idalia's flute to soothe whatever ills trouble you, my friend, but that hardly accounts for such interest in a woman who was, to the best of my understanding, your enemy. She hardly knew you." Jarlaxle paused, and shrugged. "I know that wouldn't stop me, but your vocal disgust at my behavior was always to the effect that such carrying-ons were despicable." He looked genuinely puzzled.

The assassin stared at him. Though Entreri knew he should be angry, instead he was just… numb. The man found that he didn't have an answer.

Artemis winced as he heard Athrogate's laughter in the background grating on his nerves. "Why don't you do something about him and cast a spell on him already?" he grumbled.

Jarlaxle thought about that. "I don't know."

"It seems to me that the one in need of intervention is _him_. Why don't you bother him to be a better person, or stop being so damned irritating to everyone else around him, and give me some peace for a change?" Artemis asked.

The drow mercenary made a pained expression. He said, "I think you're forgetting that there has to be something to work with in the first place."

As if hearing them, Athrogate let out another braying burst of offensive laughter.


	2. Prologue in a Nutshell

A gargoyle careened past Artemis, narrowly avoiding his sword. He screamed, "Why do these stories always start _in media res_?!"

Jarlaxle was too busy being chased by a lich to respond. He raced past on a bridge-like section of hallway far above Artemis' head.

"Isn't this zany?" the lich said, anxiously trying to hold onto the once rich rags of its robe. A huge boulder which resembled nothing so much as a bowling ball rolled past, thundering and scraping shrilly against the stone walls of the tower. "It entertains you, doesn't it?"

Jarlaxle was running as fast as he could, trying to avoid the touch of the mage corpse's fingers reaching for him. If the lich succeeded, he thought it might cause serious injury, disease, or death.

"I worked on it all week!" the lich roared, becoming angry. "The least you can do is show me a bit of praise, you ungrateful mortals! I had to read adventure stories for three months to brainstorm this creation into life!"

"Ahhhhhhh!" Jarlaxle said. "AR-TE-MIIIIIS!"

Artemis ran up the nearest stairwell and slammed head first into a flesh golem. He rebounded, flipping in the air and managing to land on his feet, avoiding a clumsy swipe of the golem's meaty arms. He fought furiously, chopping at it. Bloodless chunks of skin and muscle flew everywhere, and through the rain of disgusting flesh, the gargoyles were getting closer, swooping in for the kill. The golem cried out in bestial, tongue-less wails. Artemis was almost knocked off the stairwell by a gargoyle, and he furiously swept lines of black ash in the air, trying to make it harder for the flying monsters to target him. Artemis accidentally beheaded the golem in the process, and it stumbled into him. He lost his balance, startled, and quickly recovered by shoving the golem at the next gargoyle that tried to attack him.

His way clear, he shot up the stairs and sprinted after Jarlaxle.

"Aha!" Jarlaxle cried. He saw a room at the top of the tower and ran inside, immediately looking around for the philactery. It has to be in here, it has to be in here – There was only a book on a pedestal. He dashed for it, rapidly flipping through the book, looking for a hidden object that he could crush to stop the –

The lich hovered at his side, looking over his shoulder with soulless staring sockets for eyes.

"Hello," Jarlaxle said. He timidly beamed, innocently flicking through a few of the pages and making a wide-eyed face. "How's immortality working out for you?"

The two of them froze before either of them could do anything as Artemis barreled through the door, letting out a roar with a snarl on his face. The loud flutter of gargoyle wings was close behind him. "WE'RE GOING TO DIE AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

Jarlaxle took advantage of the lich's distraction at being suddenly run through by Artemis' weapon and ripped a page out of the book, trying to see what sort of response that would have in the dangerous undead.

The lich shrieked.

Artemis, encouraged, broke out into a relieved smile and began to fight the lich.

The lich looked more annoyed than anything else, and raised his wand.

Jarlaxle ripped out a handful of pages, panicking at Artemis' imminent demise.

The lich let another ear-piercing shriek into the air and doubled over.

"It's the book!" Jarlaxle yelled, tearing out pages left and right. The smell of rotting parchment filled the air.

In the center of the ruined book was a glowing purple skull.

"Crap," Jarlaxle said. He fell over, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

"Jarlaxle!" Artemis yelled. He saw the glowing purple skull sitting in the middle of the book and instantly knew: "The phylactery!"

"Nooooooo!" the lich said.

"Yes!" Jarlaxle yelled. He seemed to be in acute pain. "Grab it!"

Artemis yanked on his glove and snatched the mysterious violet colored artifact. Or tried to. It electrocuted him. He somehow managed to remove it from the center of the book anyway, even though he was writhing like a man stuck in a box full of tarantulas.

The lich turned to dust.

Artemis fell over.

Jarlaxle winced.

Artemis didn't move. His body was singed from head to toe.

"Are you alright?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I'm going to kill you," Artemis said. He struggled, pushed himself up on his arms, and spat out blood. "I bit off the tip of my _tongue_."

The glowing skull rolled on the floor towards the drow.

Jarlaxle's eyes lit up. "Ooh. Shiny." He snatched it.

"How come that didn't hurt YOU?" Artemis yelled.


	3. Wagon Ride Safety

Wagon Ride Safety

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"The next time you take control of a wagon," Jarlaxle said, "try not to kill anyone."

Artemis scowled. "Shut up." He pushed past the drow mercenary, striding towards the caravan.

"But I am serious," Jarlaxle said, stepping in front of the assassin again and blocking the man's way.

Artemis cast a nervous glance at Calihye. "Do you mind?" he asked.

Jarlaxle followed his gaze and broke into a smile. The mercenary flung open his arms. "Have no worries, my friend. I am merely trying to suggest that I can teach you the rules of wagon ride safety!"

Artemis saw the other mercenaries closing in on him and glared all around the clearing at them. He hated being made a spectacle. "Jar…lax…le…" he growled.

"Why don't you show us all, good Jarlaxle?" a man asked politely. He was tall and broad shouldered. He wore a brown beard, and his steel plate mail glinted as he moved. Artemis remembered him as Hart, a mercenary.

Jarlaxle beamed. "It is decided, then!" He raised an index finger in declaration, and said, "First, always make sure that your partner is fully conscious before dumping her on the ground."

Entreri gave a start, resisting the urge to have a heart attack. "That was an accident!"

"Yes, I know," Jarlaxle said, and continued. "Secondly, always have a healer on hand in case poor innocents get run over in the process of fighting flying snakes."

"You are very wise," the mercenary Hart said gravely.

The group of adventurers was beginning to catch on to the fact that Jarlaxle was lampooning his friend. Artemis heard stifled laughter.

"We _had _a healer," Artemis said, from between clenched teeth. "A dwarf. You recall this. It was too late to _do_ anything."

"In that case," Jarlaxle said, gesturing offhandedly, "always prepare a few extra coffins before going on the road to ensure that friends and family have proper resting places."

"Aye," Calihye said, scowling, obviously remembering the unpleasant demise of her friend. "Parissus had to be buried on the road."

That stilled the laughter in the group for the moment, until Jarlaxle's eyes lit up, and he put an arm around the scarred half-elf. "Indeed, my good woman," the dark elf said. "That is an excellent suggestion. When Artemis drives, be sure to pack a shovel!" The garishly dressed drow began laughing.

"I'm sure our good friend Entreri hears your warning," Hart said, looking at Artemis with a sympathetic eye. The warrior seemed to have caught on to Jarlaxle's underlying sentiment. "Perhaps you should stop, lest you sow dispute between him and his lady friend."

Jarlaxle placed a hand over his heart gallantly and said, "I would never want to do that. I wish them both only the best of happiness!" Then he winked. "That is why I want the fair Calihye riding alongside _me_ in the caravan."

The group of mercenaries laughed, sighed, and shook their heads at the drow mercenary. They began splitting up into smaller parties in order to get this leg of the journey underway.

Artemis glared at Jarlaxle until the drow and his purple hat were both out of sight.


End file.
